


Enough

by Nellasaur



Series: The Practical User's Guide to Responsible Cybertronian BDSM [3]
Category: Transformers (Bay Movies), Transformers: Prime
Genre: Anal Sex, BDSM, Bondage, Canon Crossover, Crossover Pairings, Double Penetration, Enthusiastic Consent, Explicit Consent, Light BDSM, M/M, Multiple Orgasms, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Plug and Play Sexual Interfacing, Risk Aware Consensual Kink, Safe Sane and Consensual, Size Kink, Sounding, Sticky Sexual Interfacing, Tentacles, Triple Penetration, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-14
Updated: 2014-12-14
Packaged: 2018-03-01 10:21:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,671
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2769491
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nellasaur/pseuds/Nellasaur
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the transdimensional city of Axiom Nexus, the war is suspended, faction is a fiction, and anything can happen.  TFP Wheeljack gets an object lesson in the anatomical disparity between his own particular type of Cybertronian, and the vastly different, vastly huge Bayverse Blackout.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Enough

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, so this is a bit of a weird one. [Axiom Nexus](http://tfwiki.net/wiki/Axiom_Nexus) is a canonical interdimensional hub city on a Transtech Cybertron, a place where characters from any other Transformers universe can fall through accidentally and get stuck for a while. That's why the characters in this story are Bayverse Blackout, TFP Wheeljack, and TFA Starscream clone Dirge. 
> 
> Why are Bayverse Blackout, TFP Wheeljack, and TFA Dirge all hanging out and doing stuff together, you might want to know? Well, the short answer to that one is "because RP CR". (There's a reason this one is marked as giftfic.)
> 
> You'll see the term 'Tyran' used in this fic to refer to Blackout. That's the [universal stream](http://tfwiki.net/wiki/Universal_stream) designation for Bayverse.
> 
> As a further note, when I say 'sticky' I really, really mean _sticky_ , so if you're the kind of person who's turned off by human terminology in TF sex fic, abort mission now. Beyond this point lie pussies and dicks.

Dirge had introduced Wheeljack to a game he liked to play with Blackout, a game of distractions. It went like this: if you could get Blackout to acknowledge you or speak to you when he was deeply focused on one of his engineering projects, you got a point. If you could get him to look up at you, that was two. Pausing in his work was worth five, touching you or pushing you away was ten, dropping Scorponok was fifteen, and getting him to stop entirely to deal with you was worth twenty. Wheeljack had even added a few categories of his own: Blackout pausing to explain what he was doing was worth ten, fifteen if he really started to get into it, and convincing him to take a break for fuel was another twenty-pointer.

Currently spread as he was across the huge 'Con's lap with his pussy stuffed full of Blackout's dick, Wheeljack had to wonder how many points _this_ was worth in the game.

He certainly hadn't intended this when he'd poked his head into the engineer's lab, but he wasn't going to complain. He figured maybe Blackout really needed the break, if he'd responded like this to a little casual flirting, and anyway, it was kind of nice to have the big Tyran all to himself. Usually he had to share him with Dirge, the two of them engaging in a little tag-team seduction, going at the huge and hugely stoic mech together. And though Blackout played into their games with sincere enjoyment, there was occasionally an undercurrent of aggression between him and Dirge. 

That aggression was missing entirely now. The big engineer had sounded gruff as he'd lifted Wheeljack up to perch on the edge of his worktable, but there had been nothing begrudging at all in the way his huge fingers had massaged at the grounder's clitnub or carefully stretched the rim of his pussy. 'Gruff' was really just kind of Blackout's default, Wheeljack suspected, a baffle between himself and a long, hard life. He wouldn't be the only cyb Wheeljack had ever met who used a bad attitude to keep people from getting too close (and he was way more tolerable than Ratchet, even at his worst).

Blackout's "bedside manner" was better too, and by that Wheeljack definitely and explicitly meant the considerate way the huge cyb fit his correspondingly huge dick up inside of his smaller partner. Wheeljack had seen him jackhammer it into Dirge with barely any preparation (the jet howling out his approval of the roughness around a mouthful of Wheeljack's own dick), but Blackout had taken his time today. Fingering him and playing with his clit until he was good and lubed, then offering the support of his arms like girders as Wheeljack clambered into his lap and impaled himself by stages on the massive, rippled shaft.

Wheeljack had set the pace at first, Blackout's hands cupping his back as Wheeljack clung to the crags of his chest armor and worked himself up and down the monster dick. He probably could have gotten himself off on that alone-- between the sheer size of the thing and the way its ridges tantalized his clit, he could happily have ridden that thing straight to Cum City. He was just working up a good head of steam, sliding up and down easily, almost bouncing, when Blackout's big hands captured his waist and lifted him straight off.

"Hey! What's the big idea, killer?" he demanded, but he was smiling to take the sting out of it, and thought he knew Blackout well enough by now to recognize an answering grin in the tilted mandibles of his face. Then Blackout turned him around and bent him over the edge of the worktable, that edge high enough that his feet dangled and kicked without purchase as Blackout reintroduced his dick to Wheeljack's pussy in one long, smooth stroke.

"Okay, credit where it's due," Wheeljack managed as Blackout started to drive into him, "this was a _really_ good idea."

The big cyb's only response was a laugh and a thrust deep enough to make Wheeljack cry out, grabbing at the table and rocking his hips back when Blackout hesitated. "More," Wheeljack encouraged him, "c'mon, big guy, show me what you got, give it to me, I can take it--"

Blackout took him at his word, starting to pound him in earnest. Wheeljack had taken his dick before but never like this, trapped against the sharp line of the table with his back bumper up in the air and the nubbly underside of Blackout's shaft grinding against his clit with every stroke. One of Blackout's huge hands held him pinned; leaning forward, he reached with the other to urge Wheeljack's head up and back, a big finger probing at his lips that Wheeljack took into his mouth eagerly. It was a good thing Blackout did, too, because the change in both their positions-- Wheeljack with his back arched, hips tilting down, Blackout's hips angling up as he leaned-- drove that monster dick into Wheeljack's pussy in new and tantalizing ways. His clit was trapped between the edge of the table and the endless sliding friction of Blackout and his pussy was stretched in that way that hurt so damn good, that made Wheeljack so damn proud of the resilience of his body, and then Blackout thrust in deep and stayed buried there, grinding the head of his dick against the ceiling of Wheeljack's channel, stuffing him to capacity, _t h i s_ close to bottoming him out totally and it was a good thing that he was sucking on Blackout's finger because it muffled the laughing, exultant shout as he came and _how_.

And Blackout, Primus bless him, knew just what to do. He slipped his finger free but otherwise held dead still, not moving a micron as Wheeljack let the orgasm crash all the way through him and start to recede. Only when the last fluttering spasms of the internal calipers had faded did Blackout push himself up off Wheeljack, very carefully sliding himself free of the wrecked Wrecker. Wheeljack definitely appreciated the care; stuffed as he was, it was like he could feel every bump and ridge on Blackout's dick as it withdrew.

The Tyran's hands were gentle as he lifted and turned Wheeljack over, laying him out fully on the worktable, heedlessly of the mingled coolant and lube that smeared beneath him. "Had enough?" he asked, bracing his hands on either side of Wheeljack and looking down at him.

Dirge hated that question. He saw it as Blackout trying to cheat him out of a full encounter, a dodge, a dismissal. And hey, maybe with Dirge, that's how he meant it-- their relationship was a cantankerous one, for all that Wheeljack could tell that Blackout had some genuine affection for the demanding Seeker.

But to Wheeljack, it didn't sound like a dismissal. What it sounded like was a check-in.

He didn't answer right away, stretching out against the surface of Blackout's table and giving himself a minute to gauge how he felt. Blackout watched him in silence-- although his optics were gleaming particularly bright under the jagged crest of his helm. It was the optics that decided him, that and the reflection that though he'd come, Blackout sure hadn't. 

Spreading his legs and arching a little, Wheeljack rubbed at his clitnub and let his engine purr. "What else you got?" he asked, his grin exposing dentals.

Blackout hooked a stool over and settled his bulk with a huff of his vents, his dick still jutting up between his legs, unflagged. He patted the edge of the worktable in front of him. "Sit here," he said, and though Wheeljack kinda didn't take well to commands as a rule, well, he was willing to play along right now. It helped that Blackout let him come to it in his own time, and Wheeljack took advantage of that, giving his panting systems a few minutes to leach off some heat into the cool tabletop before he sat up. Pivoting to face Blackout, he let his legs dangle, knees spread wide to avoid overstimulating his gaping pussy.

With nudging fingertips, Blackout spread his legs even wider, then touched the plating that covered his as-yet unpressurized dick. "Let me see," the big cyb rumbled, and Wheeljack was only too happy to open up and let his own shaft rise. 

While it pressurized, Blackout spread lube across his hands, wasting no time in helping it to full extension. Wheeljack was soon squirming, rubbing the fluid-flush lips of his pussy against the surface of the table, no longer feeling overstimulated but rather, again, needy. 

"You finally gonna let me return the favor, big guy?" he asked, eying Blackout's hips, wondering if the Tyran's pussy was as big as the rest of him. He'd never seen it, and he knew Dirge hadn't either; he wasn't even sure Blackout had a pussy beyond the upright monolith of his dick, honestly. Leaning back on one arm, Wheeljack took over from Blackout, running his own fingers up the shaft of his own dick and playing with the head. "I may not be as impressive as you but I promise I know how to use it."

Rumble-chuckling his amusement, Blackout shook his head. "Not quite what I had in mind. Stand."

Wheeljack groaned in protest, but got to his feet, standing easily on top of the worktable. It was an unusual angle to have on the big cyb, looking down on him instead of the reverse, and Wheeljack gave in to an impulsive desire to seize his mobile mandibles and tilt his head up. Looking up at him indulgently, Blackout chuckled again.

"I think I wanna kiss you," Wheeljack said. "That okay?"

"I don't have a mouth," Blackout pointed out, his mandibles twitching slightly under Wheeljack's hands.

"I can make do." At Blackout's little nod, Wheeljack leaned in and planted a kiss square on the vocalizer nestled between his mandibles. He felt them spread wide in surprise around his face, and grinned as he lifted away. "Never been kissed before, killer?" he asked.

"Not quite like that." Blackout tapped his chest with a fingertip, mandibles spreading in a smile. "Inventive as usual."

Then he scooted the stool closer to the table and reached up, sweeping Wheeljack against his chest and shoulder. Wheeljack opened his mouth to ask him what he was doing, but Blackout's slick fingers delved between his legs anew and answered the question unspoken. 

It wasn't Wheeljack's pussy that he was playing with this time, but the waste chute located a little further back. For a cyb who'd only been introduced to the concept of chute play with Wheeljack himself, he sure had the hang of it already, massaging and stretching the valve there with the same single-minded intensity that he'd prepared his pussy before. Wheeljack found that he was grateful for the support of Blackout's chest, fingers digging into his gaps in his exoplating to hold him up when his knees went weak. With any other partner, he would have said that chute play didn't really do it for him, but when your partner was as big as Blackout, that definitely changed things.

Waste chute stretched wide around one of Blackout's thick fingers, Wheeljack nipped at the side of Blackout's helm, laughing breathlessly. "I hope you're not planning on stickin' anything bigger than that up in me," he said. "I like your dick and all, but my back door's not that elastic."

Rumbling again, Blackout turned his head and nuzzled him briefly. "No worries. That's not what I have in mind either." He slipped his finger free and set Wheeljack back on his feet on the worktable. Wheeljack whined a protest, feet shifting, feeling lube trickling out of him, mingling with the spent coolant already on his thighs. He reached down and palmed his pussy briefly, then slid up his dick, watching as Blackout sat back and-- did the same? 

Big fingers wrapped around his big dick, stroking the shaft with slow, deliberate motions, but after the second or third pull the ridged surface seemed to be shifting. Rearranging itself? No-- as Wheeljack watched, what he'd thought was a single phallus _separated_ , each ridge proving to be a single datacord, the whole flowering into a writhing nest of prehensile cabling. 

Wheeljack exvented in a long sigh. "Whoa. That a special feature?"

Blackout shifted a little. "Standard, where I come from. We interface-- ...in an unusual way, given the other methods I've experienced since coming here," he said. He hesitated, but Wheeljack was entranced by the slow weaving of the cables and didn't volunteer anything further. After a moment, Blackout's vents coughed. "I can spike them again, if you--"

"No!" Wheeljack hadn't expected this of Blackout's dick, but he knew more than anything that he wanted to experience what the Tyran had to offer on his own terms. "No way, I'm game." He sat down on the edge of the table again, extending one dangling foot out towards the junction of Blackout's legs. The nearest of the cables reached out towards him, their capped heads exploring his armor. "But, uh, I need a little guidance here, big guy."

In response, Blackout lifted his hands. "May I?" he asked, and at Wheeljack's acknowledgement, he lifted the grounder off the table and set him, once more, into his lap. 

The cabling writhed around him in ecstatic welcome, curling around his parted thighs and trim hips. It squirmed over his plating, leaving shiny trails; blunt heads nudged tantalizingly at his lips of his pussy and his clit, the valve of his waste chute, the base of his dick. He tried to catch at them with his hands, laughing when they looped around his wrists and threaded his fingers. Then they exerted a sudden pressure, and his engine revved up as they pulled his hands down to his thighs. The cables were stronger than they looked; he realized as they cinched tight all across his plating that he was lashed down thoroughly to Blackout's lap.

He wiggled, testing the hold the cabling had on him, finding some yield but no easy freedom, and glanced up at Blackout with eyebrows cocked. "Is this what you had in mind?"

Blackout's mandibles tilted. "If you become uncomfortable, or wish to stop, just let me know. I will take any objections seriously."

Wheeljack knew him well enough by now to know that he meant it, and he stopped testing the living bondage. "All right," he said instead, tossing his head. "Do your worst."

Immediately, cabling that had been merely probing between his legs burrowed up inside him. The shocking speed with which the cable poured into his pussy and waste chute made him grateful for how well-stretched and well-lubed he was, how ready to accommodate the stretch of the dual intrusion. "Ohh-h-h," he breathed, trying to twitch his hips against the cabling, "ain't that something?"

Above him, Blackout rumbled, and more cabling wound around and around his dick. Wheeljack exvented a moan as the twisting, writhing sheathe managed to jerk off every part of his dick at once, history's most comprehensive handjob. Then the cables locked tight into place, no longer jerking hands but a rigid cage; Wheeljack's breath caught in his vents as the apparently-solid cap at the end of one of the cables split, disgorging glowing, writhing microfilaments.

"Primus," he laughed, "even your cables have cables?" 

The whole mobile assembly stilled around him, Blackout peering down at him intently. "Shall I stop?"

"Scrap, no! I wanna see what you're gonna do with those, starshine." He had an idea, as the microcabling shivered back into life, poised over the head of his dick and the outlet shaft there, an idea, a hope, _please_ \--

Wheeljack crowed in delight as one of the slick feelers worked its way down inside his dick. _Sounding_ , what a rare treat, involving more patience and prep then he could usually expect from his partners. His engine roared up in his chest, and he was aware immediately of the feeling of fullness in his dick, the stretch as another fine cable squeezed in beside the first-- of the sensation of more slick heads pushing at the rim his pussy, his waste chute, winding in among their brethren and filling him full-- of a segmented body pressing in between the lips of his pussy and dragging against his clitnub there--

More distantly, he was aware of his voice begging Blackout to keep going. 

And oh, did Blackout oblige him. Around his dick, the cabling holding him rigid started to undulate again in slow, rippling waves. The motion was matched by the cables crammed up into his pussy and waste chute starting to twist and turn together, writhing languorously inside him. The individual sensations didn't seem like much, all the disparate cables moving sluggishly, but such total stimulation built relentlessly regardless. Wheeljack's hands worked helplessly, fingers tangled in cables; lashed down tight to Blackout's crotch, his hips twitched impotently, and all he could do was ride the inexorable wave as the Tyran's clever cabling mercilessly stimulated the whole of his interface array, simultaneously, _ceaselessly_ \--

His orgasm broke over him like a clap of thunder, and this time Blackout didn't try to muffle him as he voiced his enthusiastic approval of the Tyran's unorthodox assembly. He thought he might scream as the cables continued their ministrations through the overload, milking more surges out of him than he would have thought possible, prolonging the orgasm itself until Wheeljack was slumped forward against his chest, shaking and thoroughly spent.

One by one, the cables withdrew from him. Wheeljack appreciated the slow disengagement; he wasn't sure his hypersensitive equipment could have handled everything pulling out at once. He was aware of Blackout's big hands supporting him, grateful for their solidity as the last of the cables released him and pulled away.

Gently, Blackout lifted him and returned him to his perch on the edge of the worktable, supporting him until he was able to sit up on his own. The big Tyran's optics gleamed under the crest of his helm, and his mandibles were spread wide. 

"That was intense," Wheeljack murmured.

"You see why I don't indulge often." Actually, Blackout didn't seem to indulge in _anything_ often, at least not without some outside prodding, but Wheeljack could kind of see the point with this.

He laughed a shaky laugh. "That thing oughta come with a warning label, big guy."

The bigger cyb huffed through his vents at him. "For most people here, this--" He gestured at his huge body, super-complicated and visually distinct as only cybs from the Tyran universal cluster were, "--is warning enough."

This time, Wheeljack's laugh was a little steadier. "Their loss."

"I'm glad you think so." Blackout resettled himself on the stool, the cording between his legs still weaving gently. "Had enough yet?"

Bracing his hands behind him on the table, Wheeljack leaned back and looked up at Blackout, his expression thoughtful. Oh, physically, he felt fully satiated-- his dick hung limp between his legs, bioluminescence dim, his pussy throbbed, his waste valve was sore in the best way-- but mentally?

Mentally, he was still curious.

"You don't come the same way I do, do you?" he asked, cocking his head up at the bigger cyb. He rubbed his dick gently, fingers coming away from the head coated in datafluid and cloudy, spent coolant. "I don't think I've ever seen you overload."

"And you won't," Blackout said. "Not like that."

Wheeljack spread his legs again, reaching past his dick to frame his open pussy with his fingers. "Show me. C'mon, killer, gimme everything you got."

Blackout laughed at him. "Dirge is rubbing off on you. You might want to keep that in check." But he stood and scooped Wheeljack into his arms with effortless ease, folding him against his chest. "Hold on to me," he said, as Wheeljack wriggled uncertainly against him, "and if you want to stop, merely say it. Understood?"

"Got it," Wheeljack said with a nod, bracing his feet against Blackout's thighs, fingers threading into his plating once more. 

"I need you to open your dataports for me," Blackout said next, and _that_ gave Wheeljack a moment of hesitation. Direct data transfer, sure, he was familiar with it, had received sensitive mission assignments that way-- no paper trail to follow, no accountability if he didn't come back, sure. He must have gone stiff or something in Blackout's arms, because abruptly the big cyb set him back down on the table.

"No, hey, I'm-- c'mon Blackout, I'm game," he protested, but he couldn't deny the feeling of relief as the other cyb shook his head and withdrew, sitting on his stool again.

"Not today," Blackout said, implacable. "Maybe next time, if you're still interested. It's more intense than what we just did, and I don't want to overwhelm you."

Normally, Wheeljack would have taken that as a challenge, would have been more than happy to try and rise to the occasion. But right now, still feeling a ghost of Autobot officers who couldn't do their own dirty work itching in his dataports, he thought this was a challenge he could let slide. Just this once.

"You're the boss, big guy," he said instead, grinning crookedly. 

Blackout grinned back, then leaned forward and up and brushed his mandibles across Wheeljack's chin. "Had enough?" he asked quietly.

"Yeah, I think I have," Wheeljack said. "But what about you, starshine?" He glanced down between Blackout's legs significantly, at the nest of cords-- which...were... already retracting, obediently spooling themselves away under is plating. Oh.

Blackout's fingertip on his chin tilted his face up. His optics were bright, his expression-- as far as Wheeljack could read it-- was self-satisfied. "Don't worry about me. I got exactly what I wanted out of it."

And there really wasn't any way Wheeljack could argue that, was there?


End file.
